


Sunrise

by luckjustkissedyouhello



Series: Sunset & Sunrise [2]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Panic Attacks, Police Brutality, ben has sammy's back, i've got you, sammy stevens has no self esteem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26903491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckjustkissedyouhello/pseuds/luckjustkissedyouhello
Summary: And then Sammy stops thinking about how this happened, how he came to be standing here looking at photographic evidence of the beating he took while failing his friends, because Ben’s thumb is pressing down on the video, starting it.
Relationships: Ben Arnold & Emily Potter & Sammy Stevens, Ben Arnold & Sammy Stevens
Series: Sunset & Sunrise [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954978
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings in the end note.
> 
> Whumptober prompts for this bad boy:  
> no.7: I've Got You  
> no.18: Panic Attacks

Sammy is in his room, hiding from Ben and Emily so they (Ben) don't see him struggling with his new phone. The battery on his old cell decided that it didn’t want to take a charge anymore, and Sammy can’t risk missing a call from his King Falls family, so he had to get a new one. If Ben sees Sammy have any trouble what-so-ever with the new phone he won’t let up on the old man jokes for a week, and Sammy would very much like to avoid that. 

The woman at the store said she moved over all his pictures and files, something about a cloud, but Sammy isn’t finding any of it where they normally were. He’s got a few years worth of pictures he hopes he didn’t lose. On optimistic days, he thinks he’ll be able to show them to Jack. On his bad days, Sammy thinks he’ll want the images as a reminder of his friends that will no doubt be killed by his incompetence. But today is a good day, and he wants Jack to see his life in King Falls when Jack returns.

“Sammy, you have pictures of Peas you didn’t tell me about?” Ben calls from the living room. It’s been over a year since his pet’s murder and Ben doesn’t sound so broken when he mentions Peas. He smiles more when he says the name, doesn’t always get that broken, far away look in his eyes. That’s progress. Sammy has a surge of rage and self loathing stab through his gut, stealing his breath for a moment, before he reminds himself that Ben was okay, Troy was okay. He failed them both that night, but they didn’t die. 

Sammy gets up, intent on telling Ben he doesn't remember having any pictures. Certainly not any he didn’t already send Ben. He opens his mouth to say as much, but he hears Emily gasp (they’re a good distance apart in the apartment, and Sammy still hears it, which tells him how shocked she is) and Ben says, almost in a shout: “What the fuck!?” His voice cracks the way it does when he’s really upset. 

Sammy all but runs into the living room, expecting something supernaturally awful, not Ben standing in the middle of the room staring at his cellphone with wide eyes. Ben’s hands are shaking as he looks up at Sammy. 

“Sammy--wha— that’s you?” Ben asks, stuttering out the question like he can’t quite pick which words to say first, and holds out his phone for Sammy to see. 

Sammy’s breath sticks in his throat; he feels like he’s been kicked in the balls. Forcing himself to breathe, to not turn tail and run like the coward he is, Sammy gives a jerky nod. He can’t find his voice to speak, not while looking at the picture, realizing what it means, what Ben (and Emily, god damn it) are about to know about his fuck ups the night Gunderson murdered Peas and arrested Ben. The night Sammy let Gunderson wail on him with a nightstick and cried about it like a small child with a skinned knee (not that Sammy’s father ever let him behave like that). The night Troy almost got killed because Sammy couldn’t get his ass up off the parking lot asphalt and call him. The night Sammy failed so fucking totally to protect his friends. 

Ben’s hand is shaking, but it’s easy enough to see the picture he has on the screen. Sammy took it standing naked with his back to his bathroom mirror, holding the phone at his side to capture the majority of the bruises left by Gunder’s nightstick a day or so after it happened. His skin is bruised blue-black in places, purple in others —over both his kidneys, three long overlapping bruises across his ass ( _Jack-In-The-Box-Jesus_ he should be embarrassed Emily and Ben are both seeing his naked ass, but he’s too busy remembering how awful it hurt to move, to sit, to fucking _breathe_ , in the aftermath of Gunderson’s assault to feel embarrassment), one final set of bruises across the back of his thighs, just past where his legs meet his ass. Ben and Emily are looking at this picture, seeing how he let his ass (fucking literally) get beat. Sammy thinks, kind of hysterically, that he’s grateful the picture cut off his face. He’s not sure he could handle it if his face was in the picture. 

He doesn't remember why he took the picture, other than the thought that there should be evidence, even if he never told anyone, never intended to let anyone see, he thought there should be some kind of preservation of what the bastard had done to him. Sammy was drunk the night he took the picture. He was in a lot of pain and destroyed emotionally by his failure, by seeing his best friend's pain, by talking to Troy in the hospital and hearing how he was hurting too because Sammy never got a chance to warn him. Drinking until he could hardly stand seemed like the best way to push away both the physical and emotional pain. It didn’t. Instead he learned that vomiting up bourbon with (presumably) bruised kidneys and half his back black and blue hurt like a son of a bitch. In the morning, the picture was there, the only one of the series of them that he took that wasn’t too blurry to see. So he created a folder named ‘Night Peas’ (he hadn’t known what else to call it, wanted to be able to easily identify what horrible night in a string of horrible nights the image belonged to, but couldn’t bring himself to write more than that, about Peas’s murder or Ben’s arrest) and put the picture and the video in it, forgetting about it until this moment. 

Ben closes the picture, Sammy sees he’s in the group Google Drive and _fuck!_ the woman must’ve uploaded everything to the damn cloud and Sammy’s gmail was attached to the group’s Google Drive—

And then Sammy stops thinking about how this happened, how he came to be standing here looking at photographic evidence of the beating he took while failing his friends, because Ben’s thumb is pressing down on the video, starting it. Emily’s come up behind Ben, is watching over his shoulder. They’re both going to watch. 

“Ben—“ Sammy starts, reaching unsteadily for the cellphone, but Ben looks up at him, face set. Sammy’s not going to stop Ben not when he’s like this, Ben will fixate and fixate and eventually get his way. If Sammy keeps trying to stop him, Ben will have an anxiety attack over it, over his concern for Sammy, probably imagining that the recording is worse than it actually was. Sammy can’t do that to Ben, can’t let the man's imagination and anxiety go haywire like that. Sammy swallows down bile and lets his hand drop. 

Ben will see how pathetic he was that night. Ben will _know_. The room is spinning around him, Sammy can’t breathe, his chest locked between inhale and exhale. But he doesn’t ask Ben to stop. 

Ben starts the video. Sammy grinds his teeth together, plants his feet against the urge to run and hide. Ben would find him. After getting worked up. Again, Sammy finds he'd rather not do that to his best friend. So he stays put.

Emily puts a hand on Sammy’ shoulder saying: “It’s okay, Sammy,” her voice full of kindness and understanding, support. But she sounds like she’s a thousand feet away. All Sammy can see, can hear, is the video playing on the screen. On it, Sammy is screaming wordlessly as he charges at Gunderson. 

When the nightstick hits Sammy’s thigh in the video with an audible ‘thwack,’ Ben flinches as if he’s the one that was struck - he didn’t wince when the video showed him getting his head smashed into the car door. Sammy is horrified to discover that when the phone dropped, the case on the back made it land so that the camera caught the majority of the cruiser’s hood. From his shoulders down is visible in the frame, Gunderson pressing up behind him. Of course it is. At least his face isn’t in the frame. Sammy is glad Ben doesn’t see him cry like a baby from a few strikes from a nightstick and a couple uses of a slur Sammys been calling himself in his head for decades.

Ben is, however, watching Sammy take a few hits and fold like a lawn chair. Watching him groan and whimper and cry out, doing nothing to help Ben, Troy. The same impotent rage and embarrassment as that night when he was trapped between the cruiser hood and a man with a badge allowed to abuse him rises up in Sammy so suddenly it makes him dizzy. 

Emily puts her hand on his shoulder again, when Gunderson calls him that awful word Sammy’s called himself a thousand times before in those dark hours where he was alone and scared and angry with himself for his difference. Sammy flinches out from under her hand like she’s the one that said it, like she hit him. He doesn’t see her turn towards him in concern. Doesn’t see the frown born of worry on her face. He’s too busy being trapped in two places at once, here in the living room of the home he shares with his best friend, and there, that awful night outside the station when he failed, failed pathetically to stand up for his friend. His eyes aren’t even taking in the phone anymore, the video. He can feel the cold metal of Gunderson’s cruiser under him.

Sammy hears himself sob, doesn’t even know if it’s on the screen or coming out of his mouth now. His back is against the living room wall, half a dozen steps from where Ben and Emily stand, transfixed by the video playing. There’s more meaty thwack sounds - Sammy thinks it’s the sounds of the strikes that landed across the back of his thighs, but he’s not sure without looking. He doesn’t want to look. Gunserson hit him a lot with the nightstick, he can’t be sure what time it was. He’s having trouble following the audio. 

Nothing like a recording of your own nightmare experiences played back at you. While your best friend and a woman you genuinely care about and respect are also watching. Jack-In-The-Box-Jesus Sammy wants the ground to open up and swallow him. For the first time since The Void and the long depressed months after, Sammy wants to disappear, stop existing. If only to get out of this moment.

Someone is making a pathetic, keening noise as they gasp for breath. Sammy is sitting on his ass and he doesn't know how he got there. He thinks...he thinks it might be him making that sound. 

Gunderson threatens to ‘beat the queer out of him’ like he says Sammy’s father should’ve done. ‘ _Harder to do than you'd think,_ ’ Sammy thinks and barks out a laugh. He doesn’t see Emily look over at him, whisper Ben’s name. He’s too busy smacking his head back against the wall. Quiet thuds in time with the pounding of his heart, the rate the room spins around him. On the video, Gunderson is calling him a ‘good boy.’ Leaves Sammy laying on the asphalt. There’s a pause and then the sound of Sammy crying fills the room. It takes Sammy a long moment to realize it’s the recording.

There’s a sudden crash, Ben screams: “I’ll fucking kill him!” 

Sammy flinches open his eyes (when did he close them?) to see that Ben flipped the coffee table. Papers and notebooks and two broken mugs of tea are all on the carpet. The center of the table was glass. It’s now shattered. Ben’s standing on one foot, hoping - he must have kicked it over - _seething_ , trembling. His phone is on the carpet, face up. On it, the video is still playing, Sammy sobbing off camera. God damn he sounds pathetic. 

“Shut it off,” he all but begs. His voice is cracked, broken, barely audible because he can hardly breathe.

Emily and Ben turn to look at him. _Fuck_. They’re both crying. Ben’s face is pale (well, pale for him), except for two bright spots of color high on his cheeks. His hands are clenched into fists, his chest heaving as he looks at Sammy like he’s just remembered Sammy was there. Emily, always one to recover quickly, squats down and shuts off the video.

The silence is deafening. Sammy closes his eyes to escape their looks. Why is he so upset? It happened over a year ago. He lived. Gunderson hasn’t chased him out of town like he threatened. He’s not even Sheriff anymore. Why can’t he fucking breathe after hearing it all? Why is he so pathetic?

“Sammy…”Ben starts, and has to clear his throat, Sammy almost doesn’t recognize the sound of his name because of how badly Ben’s voice crack saying it. 

Sammy doesn't respond. He can’t. He pulls his knees up to his chest, curls in on himself. He hears movement, and when Ben speaks again, he sounds closer. “Sammy, no—stop that. Please.”

Sammy snaps his eyes open as Ben grabs his wrists. Ben’s kneeling in front of him. Sammy doesn’t understand why Ben’s done that, not until he looks down at their hands, sees that he’s scratched both arms bloody. _Fuck_. He hasn’t done that in a long time. When he first moved in with Ben and his anxiety was at war with his depression to see what would win each day, _each hour_ , Sammy did it a lot - and of course, he used to do it all the time before he came to King Falls...before he met Jack, and after he lost Jack. Only wearing flannels with buttons on the cuffs and Ben’s obsessive, near constant supervision worked to get him to stop. Well, stop scratching at his arms, at least. He winces at the sight, feeling sick, hating himself all the more. Ben used to get so upset. He is upset now, Sammy can see it in his eyes. Why is he _always_ hurting Ben? 

Sammy squeezes his eyes shut, gasping in a wet, shuddering breath. Fuck he hates himself. He knocks his head back against the wall again. He knows it’ll just upset Ben more, but he has to let some of that self hatred out or he thinks he might explode and nobody, not even Ben Arnold the miracle worker, will ever be able to glue him back together. 

“Sammy, look at me,” Ben says. His voice is hoarse and broken. 

If Sammy was stronger, if Sammy hadn’t broken for Gunderson so easily, Ben wouldn’t be upset right now. Sammy shakes his head tightly. He can’t open his eyes and see Ben crying about this, he _can’t_. He bangs his head against the wall again.

“Okay. Okay,” Ben says quickly. “Maybe just...stop hitting your head? Please?” He sounds desperate, like he’s afraid to even ask Sammy that much, to stop harming himself in front of him. 

Damnit, he’s such an asshole. Why does Ben put up with him? Sammy has asked himself that question since the first time Ben asked him to breakfast after their first show and made it clear he wasn’t just tolerating Sammy as a coworker, but was interested in being his friend. Shit, Sammy’s asked Ben outright why does he care about him so much. And then just hated himself all the more for the pained look that crossed Ben’s face before he could school his features into something more loving and less … disappointed.

Sammy flinches from the unexpectedness of it, but doesn’t pull away, when he feels Ben press a kiss to his sweaty forehead, stays there for a long moment before resting his forehead against Sammy’s. Sammy really fucking doesn’t deserve Benjamin Noah Arnold in his life. Not when he fails Ben all the goddamned time. 

Jack-In-The-Box Jesus he can’t breathe. Ben pulls back. Sammy still can’t open his eyes and see Ben hurting because of his weaknesses. 

“I’ve got you, Sammy,” Ben promises quietly, not letting go of Sammy’s wrists. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Sammy makes a small sound in the back of his throat. It could be called a whine, if you were feeling uncharitable -which is how Sammy always feels toward himself, if he’s honest. He curls forward, still gasping desperately. This is so pathetic, he doesn’t understand why he’s so upset just hearing the video. His heart is pounding so damn hard in his chest. Why can’t it just implode and get it over with?

“Sammy. Sammy? You need to sit up. You can’t breathe all curled up like that, man.” Ben tells him. Might’ve been trying to tell him for a while. “And — And Emily’s got your medication. Can you sit up?”

Sammy hates the medication - not taking it, the fucking pills work - it’s the fact that he needs them. Hates that he got so bad after The Void that Ben was so worried he insisted that Sammy go to a therapist (it took all of a week of near hourly requests to break Sammy down and go). It...it worked out, but he hated that he made Ben worry about him to that point. 

“Don’t give me that frown, Sammy. It’ll help,” Ben says.

Sammy’s still gasping for breath. He can feel his body trembling and his heart in his throat. His back aches with the memory of Gunderson’s nightstick against his kidney. Hyperventilating or not, he manages to grunt his displeasure, but he holds out his hand for the pill, and sets it under his tongue to dissolve. 

He still doesn’t open his eyes. He knows it’s childish, but he needs the divider between him and the world, between him and Ben. Ben’s distraught over the video, Sammy can’t take seeing the evidence of that, of Ben’s tears, the shattered coffee table. 

“It’s okay, Sammy. Here. Gimme your hand,” Ben says, which is absurd considering he’s still loosely holding onto Sammy’s left wrist. Sammy doesn’t realize how much the touch was grounding him until Ben lets go.

He makes a pathetic whining sound in between gasps at the loss, but still doesn’t open his eyes. He _can’t_. Ben makes a comforting shushing sound, and says: “I’m here. I’ve got you.” He takes Sammy’s offered right hand. “Just doin’ what the doctor showed us, yeah?” 

Ben takes Sammy’s hand and guides it so it’s resting, palm down, on Ben's chest, over his heart. Ben’s heart is beating so damn fast under Sammy's palm. He’s breathing a bit fast, too. Probably too fast to really be effective at guiding Sammy, if it weren’t for the sickly sweet Klonopin melting in Sammy’s mouth, spreading out to his bloodstream. 

“Okay. I’ve got you, man. Just breathe with me. Like that therapist showed you. You can do this. I’ve got you.” Ben babbles reassuringly. He may be shaking and breathing hard, but Ben’s voice is calm and steady. 

They have done this before. More times than Sammy would like to admit. The therapist showed Ben how to help Sammy through an anxiety attack - get his meds, help him breathe by modeling like this. Sammy’s even done this a few times for Ben, when Ben worked himself into a panic attack. _Shit_ , there’s been one or two times at the station that Ben’s had to talk him through breathing properly during an unscheduled, emergency break because something, usually a talk about his goddamn feelings, or anything about Perdition Wood. 

Sammy tries to focus on breathing like Ben. Sammy can feel him still trembling with rage under the palm of his hand. But Sammy does as Ben quietly instructs him to do. To breathe in, hold, and let out. Box breathing, it’s called. 

It takes a while. It’s long enough for Sammy’s medication to just start working. He can breathe without fear that his next breath won’t bring him enough oxygen. He must be breathing better when Ben says: “There you go. That’s good, Sammy. Really good.” 

The therapist insisted Sammy needed the praise, and that he should do the same for anyone else who has a panic attack. That it was part of the process of calming someone down, when Sammy admitted a few sessions later that he hated it, it made him all squirmy inside to hear Ben praise him for doing something so easy as breathing. The therapist gave him a look and asked: “ _Do you think it's only about breathing?_ ” and then looked relieved when Sammy conceded her point. 

Sammy opens his eyes, to see Ben smiling encouragingly at him. Ben’s eyes are still shining with unshed tears, but his cheeks are dry. Sammy just looks at him, not sure what to say. He’s so tired. He feels like he’s run a marathon. While doing calculus. His body and brain are both so damn tired. 

“Here Sammy,” Emily says, reminding Sammy that she’s in the room, she’s holding out a plastic tumbler of water (Ben kept breaking their glasses doing dishes, Sammy got fed up - and worried about Ben cutting himself, which he did _every_ time he dropped a glass - and bought hard plastic ones). She has seen the recording and watched him break down about it. Nobody but Ben, Jack, or Lily have seen him have a panic attack and it’s probably been close to a decade since Lily witnessed one. 

But Emily’s family. Sammy mumbles his thanks as he pushes away the little stab of anxiety at knowing she just watched him freak the fuck out and takes the water from her. Ben moves his hand so that he’s no longer holding Sammys against his chest. He changes his grip so that they’re holding hands, fingers entwined. Sammy thinks he shouldn’t like that. But he wants the comfort more than he hates himself for needing it, so he lets it go. 

For a long time they just sit there in silence. Sammy drinks his glass of water, feeling dehydrated and exhausted. Ben keeps an eye on him, fidgeting with his free hand, chewing his nails and picking at invisible lint on his hoodie. Emily sits on the arm of the couch, facing them but giving Sammy space. Like she knows Sammy needs Ben more right now. Like that’s okay. 

Finally, after the third time Ben looks at him, opens his mouth and closes it, looks away and frowns, Sammy says: “Just say it, Ben. Whatever you are thinking about.” Sammy's voice is wrecked. Sammy _feels_ wrecked.

Ben looks like he’s going to protest for a moment, but then he asks, in a small, voice: “Why didn’t you tell me, Sammy?” He sounds guilty, like he feels bad for even asking. Once that question is out, the flood gates seem to open, and his voice gets stronger, but no less upset. “Gunderson really hurt you! Said awful things to you! You had to be hurting….And--And you _lied_ to me. You said you hurt your back cleaning up Pe—my place.” Ben looks stricken. Sammy isn’t sure it’s because he’s realized Sammy lied to him or because he’s talking about Peas. 

Sammy pulls his knees back up to his chest. Part of him wants to pull his hand away from Ben’s. He doesn’t deserve the comfort. But...he sees Ben in his peripheral vision go tense when he pulls his knees up, and he doesn't want to upset Ben more. “I’m sorry,” he says, directing the words to his knees. He feels awful, hates himself, but with the Klonopin in him at least he doesn't spiral into feeling like the worst human in the world, or the need to smash his head against the wall some more - it’s something. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he looks at Ben. Ben is watching him, with shining, big eyes, but at least he’s not crying again. “I wasn’t in a good place then. I wasn’t really— I didn’t—I thought I deserved to suffer alone. You know...you know what I was like, then.” God damn it, that’s so hard to say out loud, even though he knows Ben knows exactly what he’s talking about, that this isn't new information for Ben, or even Emily for that matter. Sammy’s self hatred and self destruction during that period was broadcast live nightly, after all. 

“God damnit, Sammy,” Ben says sadly, voice shaking, but he’s not angry with Sammy, or disappointed...just sad that Sammy thought like that. Ben lets go of his hand. Sammy has a momentary stab of panic that this is it, this is the thing to finally make Ben see he’s irreparably broken and not worth saving and he’s giving up like he should, like Sammy’s been all but begging him to for years.. but before the anxiety can build too high, Ben pulls him into a sideways hug - he needed to let go of Sammy’s hand to do it. Sammy rests his head against Ben’s, allows himself to be held. 

“I’m so sorry, Ben. I never meant to hurt you by lying. I just….I couldn't tell you. You were upset...and I was me…” he trails off, he hopes Ben gets what he’s saying. 

“I know,” Ben reassures him. “And I’m so proud of how much better you are now, Sammy.” Ben says that to him a lot - sometimes Sammy suspects Ben read a book on how to deal with your broken best friend that tried to toss himself into The Void. “I just...wish you told me.” 

“What good would it have done?” 

“Sammy…” Ben trails off saying his name like he does sometimes, when he’s trying to organize his thoughts to explain to Sammy something that should be obvious. “You were hurting _alone_. I could’ve done this. Told you what that sadistic bastard said was wrong. Comforted you, Sammy. Like you deserved then and deserve now. I love you. This is what people who love each other do, Sammy, when someone’s hurting. It kills me to know you thought you didn’t deserve this.” 

Sammy’s chest aches, hearing he’s causing Ben more pain. But he gets what Ben is saying. He decides not to tell Ben, seriously or joking, that he _still_ doesn’t believe he deserves the comfort he’s receiving, not fully. Ben is wearing him down on that front, though. Sammy welcomes it. 

“I hear you,” Sammy says quietly - something he learned to say when he’s not willing or able to agree to what Ben’s saying, but wanted Ben to know he was heard. Just not believed. Sammy knows Ben sees right the fuck through that shit. But Ben doesn’t argue, this time. He rarely does after Sammy has a panic attack. Just another item for the long list of why Sammy doesn’t deserve Ben Arnold in his life. 

Ben’s silent for a few moments, just sitting there and letting Sammy draw comfort from his steady presence. Then, he says: “You didn’t have time to go to the doctor that night—day—whatever. You couldn’t’ve and still cleaned up after—- _here_.” Once more, Ben can’t mention the mess that was Peas the Cat. Sammy hates himself for even being the reason Ben has to think about that night. 

“No, I didn’t.” Ben goes tense, Sammy pushes on before Ben can work himself up again. “I was fine. Just sore. Just a little blo—“ Sammy stops himself, shutting his mouth mid word with an almost audible snap. 

Ben’s arm disappears from around him, he turns so he can face Sammy. Sammy regrets losing the hug more than he’d like to admit, even now, after years of Ben wearing him down with hugs and kindness, it’s hard to admit even to himself when he likes it, needs it. Ben’s face goes hard. “Blood? Where were you bleeding from?” He asks, like he knows the answer but doesn’t want to be the one to say it. Like he wants to make Sammy fess up. 

“Uh….” Sammy starts and trails off. He ducks his head so he doesn't have to see Ben’s intense look, and says: “It really wasn’t a lot of blood. Just a little. When I pissed.” 

If Ben’s eyes get any wider, they’re going to fall out of his head. _Shit_. “Sammy!” Ben shouts, full out shouts. Sammy cringes, but doesn’t pull away- a testament to how much he trusts Ben. The only person that can (and often does, on accident) shout around him after a panic attack, or...well any time Sammy’s feeling vulnerable. “You were pissing blood and didn’t think ‘Gee, I should see a medical professional about this’!?” 

“It was only for about a wee—“ Sammy starts to defend. 

“—Do _not_ finish that sentence. Do not pretend that pissing blood for a fucking week isn’t a big deal, Sammy! Jack-In-The-Box-Jesus!” 

“Benny,” Emily says quietly, but Ben ignores her. 

“You could’ve been seriously hurt! What kind of self preservation do you have, Sammy?” 

“Fuckin’ none at the time, Ben!” Sammy yells right back. “I mean, god damn you _know_ I didn’t give a shit if I died. That was kinda the plan around then! I thought Gunderson was doing me, you, _everyone_ a fucking favor by helping the process along!” 

_That_ shuts Ben right up, and Sammy fucking hates himself for it. He gapes at Sammy. In the year plus since Sammy tried to close The Void, he’s never full out admitted it out loud, not to Ben, not to anyone, not even to his therapist, that it was a suicide attempt. But it was. Goddamned Klonopin always loosens his tongue a bit too much. 

“Goddamnit, Sammy,” Ben says, his voice trembling, and pulls him into a hug again. This one is so tight Sammy can hardly breathe, but he doesn’t mind. Into Sammy’s hair, he says: “You were in pain, man. You could hardly move the next day at the station. Those bruises….they looked awful. You didn’t deserve to just hurt alone, Sammy. You never did.” 

Sammy’s holding onto Ben just as tight as Ben is holding onto him. He makes a skeptical ‘if you say so’ kinda sound. “I mean...at the time...I thought I did.” Still did, at this moment, if he’s being honest. It’s taken him this long to realize he did not deserve what Gunderson did to him. Ben had assured him a few times, when Sammy had the courage (or weakness, depending on one’s point of view) to ask if Ben was angry he didn’t stop Gunderson from taking him to jail, that he didn’t think it was Sammy’s fault. Troy had said the same thing. And that was before Ben knew what happened when Sammy did go after Gunderson. If Troy finds out - and Sammy knows Ben, he has a feeling it will come out sooner rather than later, Ben can’t hold back his anger at someone who hurt his friends and Troy will want to know why - he will be even more understanding than he was over a year ago. 

Ben sighs wetly. Sammy can feel him shaking as he cries. “Goddamnit,” he repeats. He sounds so broken by Sammy’s admission. 

“It—“ he starts, but has to stop and clear his throat past the lump in it. “It wouldn’t happen now, Ben. I wouldn’t…” He waves his hand as if to indicate what he did, his lies of omission, his near fatal lack of self preservation. “...just suffer alone. Or not tell you...I know I deserve better than to suffer, now, Ben. I do. And that I deserve to live.” Woah that last part was shockingly hard to say. But he said it. “You taught me that.” He adds, because it’s true. “You, and Emily and Lily and Troy… _everyone_. I promise I’m not there, in that bad place, anymore.” 

Ben pulls back a little, to look at him. He is crying, still, slow, fat tears. But he smiles at Sammy. He doesn't say anything, looking like he’s at a loss for words for one of the few times in his life. He feels a hand on the back of his head and looks up to see Emily looking down at them, tears on her cheeks too. He lets go of one arm from around Ben and holds it open to her. Emily figures out the silent invitation, and sinks down to her knees and joins the hug. 

Sammy thinks admitting that all out loud, realizing just how far he’s come since that horrible night a year ago...was worth having to hear that recording again. 

“Sammy?” Ben says into his shoulder, breaking into his thoughts. He hums to show he’s listening. “We’re gonna need to save up money.” 

“For what?” 

“For Lily’s bail. She’s gonna try and kill Gunderson when she hears about this. We have to tell her...but...yeah.” 

Sammy laughs. “It’s cute of you to think they’d ever find the body, Ben.” 

“Oh. I’ll help.” 

For a minute, Sammy thinks Ben is deadly serious, that he’ll do something stupid. But Ben must sense him getting tense. “No, _Dad_ , I’m not going to go after him. But let me have this fantasy for a bit before I have to keep telling Lily we can’t murder the bastard, please?” 

Sammy laughs again, that post panic attack kinda giddy laugh, and nods. “Fair enough.” 

"Yeah, Benny,” Emily says. “You’ll be the alibi. Lily and I will take care of everything.” 

Sammy thinks Emily is joking. But he doesn’t want to ruin the fantasy of his friends enacting revenge on his behalf (and Ben’s, and Troy’s) yet. So he doesn't say anything, just presses a kiss to the top of her head, and one to Ben’s. 

He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes again. This time it’s not to shut out the world, but to just bask in the warm comfort from his friends. 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a sequel to the Sunset, so some of the warning from that: "Gunderson is his typical homophobic self. He uses the f-slur and queer as a slur, advocates for violence against LGBT+ folks, including suggesting that parents should beat their LGBT+ kids straight. His murder of Peas is also mentioned, though not in graphic detail there is talk about cleaning it up. He physically assaults both Sammy and Ben - Ben is in handcuffs at the time, and Sammy is aware of how his position as the Sheriff means Sammy can't fight back - in other words, this is 100% police brutality, and you should avoid reading this if that is triggering to you." still stands. 
> 
> As does: Sammy has a panic attack listening to the video. He self harms (scratching, hitting his head), his through process is awful and he still blames himself. There is a reference to child abuse, and it's hinted that it was because Sammy's gay...
> 
> As always, if you read this and think I missed something, please let me know and I can add it! I want everyone to have as safe an experience as possible.


End file.
